On se revoit
by wren3
Summary: One of my favourite 'what-ifs' , can't say much more than that without ruining it. Follows the novel pretty closely. CHAPTER THREE ADDED!
1. 1 At dawn

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Fanfic » Books » Les Miserables » **On se revoit**

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Author: wren

PG - English - Drama/Angst - Publish date: 10-21-02 - Updated: 10-21-02 

storyid: 1025954

Disclaimer: "Les Misérables is the work of Victor Hugo. PG rating just in case. That being said, please enjoy.  
  
The growing light of sunrise that day only served to reveal to him the human form lying still on the cobblestones, the dark trail of blood.  
  
He fought back his nausea and wished for the night that would have spared him this glimpse of death.  
  
He had to turn away, had to acknowledge that he was not meant for this. Not meant to be here.  
  
_But then, who among us is, really?  
  
At that moment, in the absolute silence of what had become their battlefield, he heard it.  
  
Gasping. Someone struggling for breath.  
  
He hurried forward to the body, gently turned it over.  
  
"__Pardine." he breathed.  
  
The boy was so young, so young. And the wounds - what he saw of them- so severe that he was positive his imagination had been playing tricks.  
  
Until the boy's eyes fluttered open. After gazing briefly around, they alighted on him. Those eyes compelled him to say what he said next.  
  
"It's all right. It's all right. I'll take care of you."  
  
A half smile that told him volumes, about loss and suffering, abandonment and fear, and then the boy slipped back into unconsciousness. He took the thin, icy wrist to check for a pulse - it was weak and unsteady, but it was there. The ragged breathing continued.  
  
His mind raced. Could he move the teenager without killing him? How was he to get past the soldiers stationed at almost every possible point of egress? He forced himself back to what needed his most urgent attention, using what knowledge he had from accidents at his job to tend to the injured youth  
  
_

That was when the first shots rang out. The National Guard had begun their attack.  
  
_We're trapped doomed they'll see us and - oh God oh God what am I going to do?  
  
Then the guns got louder, and he could hear voices, yelling, rallying.  
  
They were close.  
  
It only took a second for him to make his decision.  
  
He looked over at the young man, taller than his rescuer buy a few inches. He lifted himand found that his weight barely challenged the muscles honed by factory work. In his arms, the boy felt almost as if he wasn't there at all. He paused to orient himself, to figure out his best possible route.   
  
Then, Joseph Caron ran. And he prayed.  
  
******* _

The raging conflict only blocks away sounding in her ears, she pressed forward, not expecting to see anyone - hoping not to. Her mouth went dry then when the man emerged from the doorway.  
  
"Please, Mademoiselle, your help. I need your help."  
  


She saw the blood on his clothing. It took her a moment to realize that it was not his, to see the figure laid gently on the ground.  
Her large blue eyes widened. She stood frozen as she debated within herself. She could accomplish nothing more here. She chided herself for her foolishness, in taking this dangerous risk, in believing that she could answers about the fate of the two people dearest to her.  
  
She indicated her choice with a single, word, spoken clearly, decisively.  
  
"Come."  
  
Her carriage was waiting in the next street. The wounded boy didn't stir as he was laid in.  
  
She studied him. There was something familiar-  
  
She shook her head to clear it, and climbed gracefully, with a hand from her companion, to the driver's box.  
  
*******

"She's been asking for you - for you in particular Mademoiselle. I would advise against it, against any excitement, but she was so agitated that - "  
  
"How - how is she now?"  
  
This was the second time that day the doctor had looked in, at the request of her father.  
  
From his expression, the lips pressed in to a thin line, she knew the news was no more encouraging than it had been before.   
  
"We still must wait and see." He responded gently. "She might well survive."  
  
But most likely not his tone said. There is nothing more we can do.  
  
"And she is lucky to have found such benefactors."  
  
She nodded once,  
  
"Thank you Monsieur"  
  
She rose gracefully, and walked down to the hall to the room set aside for their visitor.  
  
Chestnut hair, loose and long fanned out on the pillow. Her complexion was still an unhealthy grey. She wore the nightdress they had found for her.  
  


The reader will probably already have guessed that this was the person that Caron the worker had borne to safety two days before.  
  
She turned her head when she heard someone enter. Her eyes burning, she fixed the other young woman with her regard.  
  
Her voice was weak, but clear.  
  


"I thought it was you"  
  
Her laugh was short, bitter, but not cruelly so.

"It is funny, being here, owing my life to you after– I knew you see. When you came with your father, I knew."

She trailed off.   
  


"You don't recognize me."  
  


"Of course I do. Of course," She protested, not understanding.

The other girl studied her from the bed.

"I suppose you wouldn't exactly be eager to remember. But surely you must recall something. She can't be completely gone, _L'Alouette__."_

Cosette was shaken to the depths of her soul. 

For a long while she couldn't speak. Finally she uttered a single word, a name.

It came out barely a whisper.

"Ponine."

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	2. 2 In the darkness

**Thanks for the kind reviews! Here's chapter two for you all, at last. **

Pallid and transfixed, Cosette's aspect was that of one haunted. And in a way, it was true – the thin figure on Toussaint's bed, this injured guest, was a ghostly vision from a dimly remembered past.  

"I was right then. You did not forget." 

Then, her expression changed, and with effort, Éponine raised herself on her elbow.

If she spoke faintly, she was nonetheless frantic, and Cosette could see why it was that 

the doctor had had trouble.   

"The letter.  I don't know what happened.. if.. but I did give it him. I need you to know I 

gave it to him."  

She sank down on the pillow once more.  

 Cosette felt then that she could have wept. With relief from her father's return, from the word-received little less than an hour earlier - that Marius still lived.  For the pain of what he suffered, the knowledge of how precarious the balance was that held his health, his life.   And for the confusion that seemed more and more to encompass her life within, the world without. 

But because Éponine's appeal seemed to demand of her an answer, she bit the tears back and said the only thing she could have said, softly, soothingly.  

"Yes. I do know. And you must rest. Rest now." 

She felt her chest squeeze, suddenly the room was too oppressive, the desire to flee overwhelming. She hurried from the small room, not looking back.

And in the shadow, from the corner of the room someone watched her go. 

                                              ********

Joseph Caron continued to quietly sit in that corner for the rest of that night, painfully aware that this was all he could do.

He heard the doctor's voice in his head

_She's lucky that the bullet went through cleanly. _

_Lucky?Caron grimaced__. Not a word I would have chosen. _

The moon hadn't yet risen, and it was very nearly pitch black in the small, unadorned but comfortable bedroom. 

He could hear her breathing, becoming more tortured again. Alone, his mind began to wander.  The events of the last day were a blur. He recalled sentry duty, being sent to watch the barricade of the Rue Mondétour. Finding the boy – girl, he reminded himself- and finding help. Coming to this house. But little else.  

Except the weight of his guilt for running, for surviving. Except the coldness of despair – the ashes of their failed insurrection.  He should have died with him, as he promised.  But then as he watched her sleeping  and somehow, in a way he could not explain he was anchored again. 

Soon, the pale light signalled the approaching day, and Caron at last drew away from the bed, and walked out into the road, on his way to work. 

                                                     ******

 And each night of that week, he came at the same time, in the same manner, staying until daybreak. He insisted on taking the place of the others  at Éponine's side.   For the fever had overtaken her. She had slipped into unconsciousness just after he left that first morning and he felt compelled to be near her, to care for her. 

By the tenth of June, she still had not regained her senses.  That evening, as he sat his vigil again, in the quiet, he wondered. 

_You are quite a puzzle, my friend.   _He acknowledged silently.

The few days he had spent here – with the older gentlemen, M. Fauchelevent, and his daughter Cosette , with Éponine listening to her delirious ramblings- still had not shed any real light on how the girl had come to where he'd found her, and why. But her misery did not need to be voiced for him to see it. He knew, looking at the still form, what elemental battle was being waged there. 

He gently smoothed back her hair, took the cool wet cloth from the basin, rung it,  applied it to her forehead.  And, as he had done each night , he willed her to breathe. To fight. To live. 


	3. The truth that you know

Caron had at first, not allowed himself to hope. But, on the fourteenth evening, just as he was arriving from work, she awoke, drenched in perspiration and shaking with chills. Doctor Lavoie had come, and confirmed what they'd seen - her fever had finally broken. He talked to Caron while Toussaint helped Éponine to change out of her wet clothes. The doctor was a young man, with kind blue eyes and red hair, spectacles that kept slipping down his nose. 

"I must admit, with wounds as grievous as hers, like I've never seen, and her condition, I wouldn't have expected to survive that first day. And yet,. well, I can't explain how, but she has proved me wrong. I think I can safely say, that with proper care, she has a chance to recover." Caron's heart lifted. A light seemed to slowly spread, like the sun brightening the sky in the morning. 

"Thank you, Doctor. Thank you." 

_"Je vous en prie._ I will be back to check on Éponine tomorrow, but if there's a change, you or Mme. Toussaint should contact me at once, please. "

The servant then came back with a tray - broth and bread for Éponine. 

She smiled at him as she passed, and squeezed his shoulder lightly. They had grown quite fond of each other since they been together for the last two weeks, taking care of the injured girl. Two strangers looking out for a third. Funny, how the hand of God moves in our lives,

He slipped downstairs, the house silent around him. For mademoiselle was out, again nursing her young man, and her father, the older gentleman, was with her. Caron made his way to the kitchen, where there was supper waiting for him, Toussaint's unassuming kindness. He heard the doctor leave, and just a few moments later, the housekeeper came back, her tray still full, defeat in her eyes. He said,

"Perhaps if you'll allow me, madame."

She passed it to him.

"If you can convince her, I'll be right glad, that's for certain." 

At her door, he knocked softly, then entered, knowing it would be pointless to wait for a response. 

In his best firm tone, he said

"No arguments, Éponine. You must eat something." 

The room was lit by one candle in the dying of summer twilight, she lay on the bed her back to him. Her breathing, he noticed, had eased. Her face was still drawn with pain, but her colour was much better. All these signs, he found encouraging. 

"Yes. Must keep up my strength, of course." Her voice was weak still, but the sarcasm was there, and for a moment, he was sure she would refuse. He wasn't sure whether it was because of the rapport he had with her, the tone of voice he'd used, or the double persistance - his and Toussaint's- but for whatever reason, she then obediently turned and gently shifted herself so that she was sitting against the pillow, wincing. He then placed the tray on her lap. She ate what was there, though toward the end, she became so tired that lifting the spoon was too much of an effort, so he took it up and tenderly fed her the last half of the broth. Then he set it aside, and assisted her to lie down again. He looked into her dark eyes, showing him heavy weariness, the haunting of ghosts - her youth and innocence lost. But there was something else he saw there, a spark of life. Lost in her gaze, his breath seemed to leave him. His spirit warmed. 

"Do you believe in miracles?" was the only thing he could think to say.

Her only answer was a small smile. That smile of hers that seemed to hold all the sadness of the world. That defied him to hold on to any such thing as faith. But as quickly as it came, she dropped into sleep, her features settled into peace. So did Caron find ease himself, and he softened as he brushed back a stray lock of her hair from her face. An observer who saw his expression might have easily put a name to what he was feeling. Love. 

******

It_ was dark, the trees all around her blocking out the stars and the moon. She shivered, hearing all around her the sounds of the forest creatures, cries, snuffling, calls. Eyes glowed at her. She was tired, so tired, but did not stop, could not stop. The trees ahead all seemed the same, as if she were not getting any closer, no matter how she tried. _

_Then, she heard yelling. She was inside, near the table. _

_ " Where are you, Chien Faut de Nom? When I tell you to get out here.."_

_The child clenched her red, chapped hands tightly, small frame trembling, as she willed herself not to be seen. She heard her name bellowed again and shrunk back further into her corner. The voice was getting closer, she knew she would be found. _

_"Ah, sneaking about, Mam'zelle Crapaud? I might have guessed."_

_The tall imposing figure loomed up over her. _

_Her mouth began to quiver, though she did not cry. _

_An iron grip encased itself around the child's painfully thin arm._

_"No, Madame, please, Madame, I didn't mean - please Madame." _

_"Stop that snivelling, or I'll give you something to snivel about!" _

_She was jerked roughly to her feet and dragged. _

Cosette awoke in her comfortable bedroom of Rue Plumet, back to the reality of her comfortable bedroom in the house on Rue Plumet. Back in her own skin. But she could not banish the dream from her mind - her heart pounded, she lay wide awake. After a moment she got up and slipped on her dressing gown and went to seek the comfort of her garden, not even bothering with shoes. She took the warm summer air into her lungs, feeling as if she could never get enough of it. It was becoming a familiar feeling, actually. Too familiar, especially in the weeks since that girl had become her guest. But before that too, if Cosette was honest. Every once in a long while... 

But now in recent days, it was worse, sending her from her bed almost every night. Demanding that she confront .. The past. _Her_ past. The little girl had always been separate, of no relation to the young woman of the present. But that was wrong, Cosette was forced to admit. The dreams she was having came from what had once been her reality. The dimly, hazily remembered eight year old so abused and the person she had become, though utterly different, were still one. Cosette wrapped her dressing gown closer around herself, against a sudden chill, and sat down upon the bench where she and Marius had so often met. It was a truth that she had to confront. And she knew right then what her first step had to be. To talk to her father. A hard thing to do, she felt. But the easiest, compared to what else lay ahead after that. She sat for a few minutes more, then rose, to return to bedroom and to try to find rest, resolved and a good deal calmer. 

The next day she was up and dressed early, her thoughts on Marius. Her reflection in the glass was pale, and showed purple circles under her eyes. Her father would attribute it to worry for Marius, perhaps. A little while later, she was less sure as they were in the carriage . The silence that had always been comfortable, the most comfortable, was now changed. It had been since the insurrection, since Marius had come back safely, she realised, even as she noticed it for the first time. 

But soon, her difficulties seemed quite unimportant. Such was the effect of caring for someone who required it. Such was the effect of being near Marius, him and their love a salve even when he was so ill. There was a part of her that wished for the day to never end. But all to quickly, the sun began to lower toward the horizon. So they took their leave, and rode back home, silently. Wordlessly, she returned to the main house, her father to his cottage. It was a little while later that she made her way down the path to his door. As she had done in the evening ever since they had come here. 

He smiled glad to see her. Her spirits lifted at that unguarded response, a reassurance, however brief, that what was between them need not change. He ushered her to his small table. Once they'd been seated, Cosette struggled to begin what she had planned to say. 

"There is .. I have been unable to sleep, and.."

"Toussaint told me so." He took her hand. "It grieves me to see you troubled. But I see him gaining strength every day, and reason for encouragement, not fear or worry." 

Cosette felt a surge of anger , frustration, but her tone was measured.

"I am concerned for him, but that is not what I have come to talk to you about, Père."

He regarded her.

"It's that, there are things we have not really talked about between us. And I'm beginning to- when I am married I shall- need.."

"No Cosette. You have trusted me before, I ask you to trust me again when I say, it is best if you leave all of it where it is. Do not look back, but rather to the future. Please." 

"I have done that, exactly as you wanted, for many years. But I see now, I think you know it too, it doesn't work. There isn't any way to erase a part of yourself." 

He visibly shuddered. Though he kept his back to her. It made her stomach quail, but she went on. 

"Still, you'd like to believe that this isn't so Especially where I was concerned. You thought that I did not recall anything...before you. I suppose you didn't expect that I'd even recognise our guest."

"Of course not." He said weakly. "I'm aware you know her. The elder Jondrette girl." 

"I meant by her real name." 

He slumped slightly in his chair with that, and it made her nearly falter again. 

"Oh, Father." she burst out. "There's so much I don't know. How did you come to rescue me? Who was my mother?" 

But she was still met with silence. With his back.

After a long moment, she whispered, "Who are you, really?" 

He turned then, and his eyes, for a brief second, their despair truly frightened her. She stayed where she was for another interminable moment, hoping. But still he said nothing. The wall between them was higher than ever. She turned, throat burning and eyes stinging. Slowly,she walked through the door. 

"Cosette," he called after her. 

But she gathered her skirt with one hand and ran as fast as she could down the path toward the house. 


End file.
